


my head's in heaven (my soles are in hell)

by littlesnowpea



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Brendon and Spencer are ghosts okay, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Two separate spirits want to be reunited,” Pete reads slowly. “Why is this our problem again? It sounds like the interns could handle it. Probably unsupervised.”</p><p>“First of all, the interns can’t handle anything unsupervised,” Patrick says dryly, and Pete throws an eraser at him without looking. “Also, one usually reads the whole page before unleashing an opinion.”</p><p>“Two separate spirits want to be reunited, and only one of them has accepted that they are a spirit,” Pete continues. “Still not sure why it’s on our desks. Not really up to par with the demon from last week. Are they afraid we’ll get rusty waiting for another impossible case?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	my head's in heaven (my soles are in hell)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts).



> Ha! I'm BACK! Now with more Peterick!
> 
> A warning: there is mentioned suicide in this. Nothing outright and nothing described, but it's mentioned as a cause of death. Pete's attempt is also mentioned.
> 
> Brendon and Spencer are technically dead, but they are functioning ghosts in this. So I didn't count it as character death, per say. 
> 
> I shamelessly borrowed some of Patrick's Shane Morris Takedown. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Beta courtesy of Audrey (sunflashes). All remaining mistakes are entirely mine.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Are you serious.”

The question is rhetorical-Patrick knows Travie realizes this, but he continues on regardless.

“No, really. Are you serious?” Patrick’s voice is dangerously close to a whine despite his best efforts, so he clears his throat and rearranges his face to smooth nonchalance, instead. “Look, I’m happy you’re able to retire now, I know you were waiting for it, and I’m honored you’d choose me as your replacement, but is it _really_ necessary to bring _Wentz-“_

“I heard my name, Patty!”

 _So fucking dead,_ Patrick mouths to Travie, who sighs. 

“Hello, Wentz,” Patrick mutters, keeping his voice just civil. Just. 

“Hey there!” Wentz’s voice is loud and braying, and it sets Patrick’s teeth on edge, especially when it’s followed by- “Long time no see!”

Wentz finishes this absolute assault on Patrick’s tastes by _dropping an arm around Patrick’s shoulders_ and the glare Patrick levels at Travie could probably melt steel. 

“I dream every day about it getting longer,” Patrick mutters, eyes locked on Travie’s grimacing face. Wentz thankfully doesn’t seem to hear, and instead brandishes a hand for Travie to shake. 

“Travie!” Wentz greets. “It’s really an honor, man. It’s like you read my mind about how much freelancing was killing me.”

“That’s a shame,” Patrick smirks, and Wentz, to his credit, ignores him. Travie sighs.

“Pete, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are some bridges you’re gonna have to mend,” Travie begins. “That’s your job, not mine. Patrick, I know you’re wondering why I’m giving you and Pete the joint role of Head of the Paranormal Investigative Unit, but trust me. I see fantastic things out of you every day and I see equally amazing things out of Pete’s work. A storm is _coming,_ gentlemen, and I just want to make sure I leave my unit in capable hands when it comes.”

“I understand,” Patrick replies, managing to keep the insolence that so desperately wants to escape under wraps. Beside him, Wentz nods. 

“Thank you both,” Travie says, voice serious. “I knew I could count on you. I know that you can keep this unit out of Morris’ hands.”

“He’s still gunning to incorporate this unit?” Wentz asks suddenly, voice shocked. Patrick grimaces, this time only at the thought of Chicago’s Police Commissioner.

Travie nods grimly.

“He wants to control us,” Travie explains. “We’re the only unit not under his command. He keeps sending us cases so he gets at least minimal control, but I’m trusting you to keep us open and free.”

“You know I will,” Patrick says firmly. “I don’t speak for Wentz, but I don’t doubt he’ll do all he can, too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick sees Wentz send him a shocked look. Patrick ignores it.

“Thank you,” Travie sighs, suddenly looking more ready for retirement than Patrick’s ever seen. “Thank you _both.”_

“Sure, Travie,” Wentz says softly, beating Patrick by a millisecond. “What can we do for you in the interim?”

Travie gestures towards the door. 

“You could help me with my remaining caseload,” he suggests, laughing weakly. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Wentz grins, huge and bright. “Give us a chance to hone our ‘cooperative’ skills, hm, Trick?”

“Sure,” Patrick answers, proud that he’s managed to keep the derision to himself. “We’ll see you soon, yeah, Travie?”

“Yeah, Patrick,” Travie nods, before dismissing them with a short wave. “See you both soon.”

Patrick leads Wentz out of Travie’s office, and as the door swings shut behind them, Wentz grabs Patrick’s elbow cautiously. 

“Look,” Wentz’s voice is uncharacteristically serious, and Patrick turns to make eye contact with a sigh. “I know we kind of ended on bad terms in training. And I know you don’t want to see me, much less work with me. But I just want you to know that all I am is professional, and I’m serious about investigating. And I don’t want this to get in the way of the help we can provide. You get me?”

Patrick surveys Wentz’s earnest expression for a moment before sighing again and sliding his earpiece in.

“I get you,” he confirms. He narrows his eyes. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you for what happened that night after we graduated, I hope you realize.”

“I didn’t think it would,” Wentz says, shrugging. “I hoped we could move past it? We’re older now, after all.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and hands Wentz a case file from the box just outside Travie’s office door.

“Show me you can handle this,” he says. “Classic trapped boggart. Send it home, then we can talk about moving on.”

Wentz takes the file with eyes practically bugging out of his head in excitement, holding it like it’s the key to everything he’s ever wanted. Who knows? To him it might be.

“Does moving on consist of you calling me Pete and not Wentz?” Wentz asks hopefully and Patrick counts to ten in his head.

“Sure,” he mutters. He doesn’t particularly want to call Wentz by his first name, but he figures that’s probably part of the “moving on” package.

Wentz grins.

“Consider it done,” he says, bowing, and Patrick snorts because, hey. He highly doubts it.

—

Two months later, they get the biggest case of their lives.

“Two separate spirits want to be reunited,” Pete reads slowly. “Why is this our problem again? It sounds like the interns could handle it. Probably unsupervised.”

“First of all, the interns can’t handle anything unsupervised,” Patrick says dryly, and Pete throws an eraser at him without looking. “Also, one usually reads the whole page before unleashing an opinion.”

“Two separate spirits want to be reunited, and only one of them has accepted that they are a spirit,” Pete continues. “Still not sure why it’s on our desks. Not really up to par with the demon from last week. Are they afraid we’ll get rusty waiting for another impossible case?”

“Turn the page, Pete,” Patrick sighs, and raises an eyebrow at Pete’s immediately horrified face. “Yeah, sums it up.”

“Oh, fucking _hell_ no,” Pete seethes. “We don’t get involved in religious shit! We don’t!”

“I know, right,” Patrick mutters. “Almost like our opinions don’t _actually_ matter despite being the _heads_ of-“

“As valid as your viewpoint is,” at those words from _that_ voice, Patrick’s expression twists into something he’s sure he shouldn’t present to the unfortunate new Commissioner of the Paranormal Investigation Unit. “It is also unnecessary. This case is _important_. It could help speed up laws through Congress that we _need_ passed. Or have you forgotten?”

Patrick scowls and Pete makes a pleading face at him. Gritting his teeth, Patrick breathes in deep.

“I haven’t,” Patrick says in a passable imitation of civility. “I’m just concerned about what the Church will do if we get involved. Wouldn’t that damage our image and make the laws even harder to pass?”

“The Church is not as popular as it once was,” the Commissioner says dismissively. “Therefore, the pros far outweigh the cons. I don’t want to hear another complaint. You leave for Vegas in three hours.”

Patrick’s eyes narrow and Pete grabs his arm warningly, just out of sight of the Commissioner, who smirks anyway as he turns to leave.

“Make sure you do a clean job,” he tosses out over his shoulder. “I trust you’ll take care of your pet, right, Wentz?”

Patrick freezes, and Pete utters a quiet _oh, shit_ that Patrick hears numbly.

Thankfully-well, thankfully for the Commissioner, that is- he rounds the corner out of sight before Patrick’s brain catches up with his emotions. 

“What the _fuck?”_ Patrick spits out. “What the _fuck_ did he just say?”

“Patrick, I know,” Pete tries. He really tries, Patrick can tell, but he’s too angry to care.

“He called me a _pet?”_ Patrick hisses. “A fucking _pet?_ Listen. I’m a pretty nice guy. I like when people like me. For some reason, I want to make that _impossible_ for him.”

Pete stays quiet, possibly reliving his own experiences with Patrick’s anger. 

“He sucks. He fucking sucks. At everything,” Patrick continues, seething. “Up to and including his job. I don’t think he’s helped a single spirit in his entire time here. Is he aware you can’t arrest spirits? I doubt it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to try,” Pete says weakly. Patrick ignores him. 

“The way he handles this department might lead some to believe he’s a pretty fucking _shitty_ Commissioner,” Patrick snaps. “Not my words, mind you. His job performance's. He’s all talk and no skill and I cannot fucking _believe_ we have to answer to him.”

“I know,” Pete sighs. “And neither can I, but we won’t answer to anyone if we don’t get a move on this case, Patrick. We have to go, no matter what we want.”

Patrick breathes out harshly through his nose.

“Fine,” he says irritably. “Let’s go, then.”

—

Patrick is silent on the cab ride to the first location, and he can tell Pete knows something is up, but won’t ask.

He appreciates Pete’s tact. It doesn’t always happen.

“How are we supposed to reunite two spirits, one of which _doesn’t know_ they’re a spirit, convince them they _are_ a spirit and that they can move on, and do it practically undetected all before the court decides to side with the Church and the parents of one of the spirits and exorcise them?” Patrick spits out suddenly, seething. Pete’s shoulders slump, like he was just waiting for it.

“I don’t know,” Pete replies, defeated. “I feel like I’m letting Travie down but when spirits don’t know they’re spirits, it’s just rough. You can’t capture them, you can’t do anything if they flee. It’s going to be _messy,_ Patrick, like we never like it to be.”

Patrick exhales.

“Tell me about these kids,” Patrick begins, pushing up his glasses in an effort to force himself to focus. “Tell me everything you know.”

Pete just _knows._ That’s his strength. He brings knowledge of spirits Patrick’s not even sure the name of and it’s always correct.

“One’s Brendon, one’s Spencer,” Pete answers immediately. Patrick is impressed. “They’re minors-I know, trust me- and they were boyfriends. Yikes.”

“What?” Patrick asks, reaching for the file before Pete’s even finished. “What is more ‘yikes’ than underage?” 

“Uh, well,” Pete says, and sighs as Patrick’s eyes threaten to bug out of his head. “Yeah. That.”

“Morris sent us into a _double suicide_ without a warning?” Patrick hisses, and Pete winces. “What the fuck _else?”_

“The parents of Brendon are the ones in the Church,” Pete mutters. “They want Brendon exorcised before he finds Spencer. The kids killed themselves because Brendon was outed.”

“This is the worst thing maybe ever,” Patrick seethes. “This is fucking awful. We don’t do suicides, Pete.”

“I _know,”_ Pete says, file almost wrinkled in his hand. “I fucking know, but if they manage to exorcise Brendon before we get there, I don’t know how I could live with myself.”

Patrick knows he lost already, and sighs.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “ _Fine._ So we have what, three cases in one? If anyone can do it, we can. 

“Morris sent us here,” Pete points out. “There has to be a trap.”

“Four cases in one,” Patrick corrects, with a dark thought towards Morris’ existence. “Fine. Let’s make him regret trying to sabotage us.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Pete grins halfheartedly, despite the small shake still left in his hands, and Patrick reaches over for the file. 

“Yeah, well, with you?” Patrick snorts. “Literally anything is possible.”

He doesn’t miss Pete’s wide, astounded grin, but he pretends like he does.

There’s really only so much he can take.

Blessedly, the cab driver interrupts before Patrick has to force himself to respond.

“Here you are,” the driver announces. “No charge. I heard you talking, and I remember hearing about these poor kids. If you can help them, it would mean a lot to the community.”

“Will do, sir,” Patrick replies quietly after a moment, awed. “Thank you.”

“Best of luck,” the cab driver says, and Patrick nods before wordlessly following Pete out of the car.

“Well,” Pete says as the cab drives off. “Well, here we are.”

The house in front of them was criss-crossed multiple times with police tape, and Patrick catches the eye of the officer out front.

“PIU,” Patrick says as they approach him, holding out his badge. “Still investigating? We were told you were done.”

“No, don’t worry,” the officer says, checking Patrick’s badge before following suit with Pete’s. “We’ve been done. But the parents have already been caught trying to sneak into the home with their preacher friend, and the courts aren’t even close to done hearing all the evidence. It would present a problem if they exorcised the kid and then the court decided to let him be.”

“Most definitely,” Pete agrees, sizing up the house. “May we enter?”

“Of course,” the officer gestures to the front door. “The kid is skittish though. He thinks he’s in trouble.”

“Fantastic,” Patrick laughs, and the officer grins wryly. 

“Sums it up,” he says. “Have at it, boys. It’s all yours. We guard it around the clock. There’s another officer out back, I’ll radio him to let him know you’re here.”

“If at all possible, I’d like to avoid being shot,” Pete says. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” the officer waves them off, and Patrick can practically feel Pete breathing down his neck as they approach the door. 

“I don’t know,” Patrick says preemptively, pausing on the porch. “I have no clue what our strategy is.”

“But that’s your job,” Pete mutters, and Patrick sighs in exasperation. 

“May I remind you,” he says, turning the door handle and pushing the door open. “That we share this jo-“

A blood-curdling scream interrupts him, and he and Pete immediately clap hands over their ears, wincing.

“Peace, we’re here in peace!” Pete yells, voice almost lost in the scream. “We are not the Church!”

The shriek is abruptly cut off, leaving ringing silence behind.

“Sorry,” the voice is tiny, nervous. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just afraid. I’m sorry.”

Patrick winces as he squints up in the general direction of the voice. 

It’s a fucking kid.

He’s not really sure what he expected, but for some reason, this kid wasn’t it.

Patrick knows intellectually that they were basically children when they died. Sixteen, the file said. Sixteen years old. But this spirit looks so much younger than that, afraid and small. 

Patrick wants instinctively to keep him safe. The strong wave of emotion shocks him a little, and he clears his throat.

“Brendon?” he asks, instead of saying anything stupid, like _why did you think this was all you had left._ “I’m Patrick. This is Pete. The police should have told you we were coming.”

Brendon nods nervously. 

“Where’s Spencer?” Pete asks, glancing briefly at the file. “Is he around here?”

Brendon looks uncomfortable.

“He’s….here,” he answers slowly, still not meeting Patrick’s eyes. “He’s getting more…used to it, now. I think. I don’t know. He won’t talk to me. But he knows he’s dead now. My mother- I mean, he figured it out.”

“He won’t talk to you?” Patrick asks, concerned, letting the last bit slide for now. “Do you know why?”

“I think the whole thing makes him uncomfortable,” Brendon says loudly, voice hoarse. Patrick can tell he’s tiring out—he’s a young spirit. He doesn’t know how to properly channel energy yet. 

“You can talk normally,” Pete reassures, thankfully on the same page. “We’re trained to be able to hear you. You’ll get tired faster if you shout.”

Brendon looks like he wants to protest, but doesn’t.

“You think Spencer is uncomfortable?” Patrick asks gently. “Why is that? And how can we fix it?”

Brendon shrugs, his hazy shoulder barely visible with the movement.

“Lots of things make Spencer uncomfortable,” he explains, voice notably softer. Thankfully. “New things. Change. Eye contact. Salad.”

“Salad?” Pete questions, lips twitching. 

“It’s green,” Brendon sighs. “And you have to put dressing on it. Don’t ask him about it, he’ll go on forever.”

“Duly noted,” Pete’s trying not to laugh. 

“We’re here to help you,” Patrick says gently. “Yours and Spencer’s safety is our number one priority. We’re willing to try and talk to Spencer now, if you think it’s worth it, but if it’s not, we can let you rest and come back later. We’re here for _you two,_ and no one else, ok?”

“Ok,” Brendon says shakily. “I know my parents are trying to get rid of me. It-it doesn’t feel good. I thought I already gave them that.”

“Don’t say that,” Pete says fiercely. “This is their problem. It’s not yours. It’s not your fault. Ok? We’ll deal with them. You never have to worry about them again.”

“They just want the house back,” Brendon’s lower lip trembles. “That’s all they care about. Not me. Not really.”

“They’re not going to get it,” Patrick says firmly. “That’s why we’re here. They can find someplace new. You can’t. It’s really simple.”

“What if this house is destroyed?”

The new voice comes out of _nowhere,_ and it’s only Patrick’s training that stops him from shouting at the sound of it.

“You must be Spencer,” he says instead, albeit slightly breathlessly. 

The spirit gives Patrick a look full of what must be practiced disdain, and floats to Brendon’s side.

“Don’t mind him,” Brendon says with false brightness in his voice. “He’s a bit of a bitch.”

Hilariously, Spencer doesn’t argue that point. Instead, he rolls his eyes and repeats himself slowly, like he thinks Patrick’s an idiot.

“What if this house is destroyed? Like, burn it down or something,” Spencer sounds almost _bored,_ and Patrick is reminded that the kid was just a teenager. “What would happen to us then?”

Pete and Patrick exchange a glance, and Patrick realizes with deep-seated horror that the kid has a point. 

Absolutely not.

“We’re not going to do that,” Pete says, in lieu of answering that yes, that would actually set them free. “We’ll figure something out. It’s our job. Spencer, I’m glad you’re accepting this.”

Spencer sneers, and Brendon’s brave face cracks a bit.

“Sorry,” he says with another sigh. “Spencer’s been lying to the police. He likes being difficult.”

Spencer doesn’t argue that, either. 

“Ok,” Patrick says slowly. “You’ve given us a lot of things to think about, so thank you both for that. We’ll let you go for now, you need to rest, Brendon.”

Spencer floats a little closer to Brendon, frowning as he takes in the tight expression on his face. Patrick’s heart aches as he sees Spencer make an aborted attempt to grab Brendon’s hand before realizing he can’t. 

“We’ll come back later,” Patrick finishes. “You’re safe now, ok?”

“Thank you,” Brendon pipes up, floating alongside them as Patrick follows Pete to the door. “I really appreciate you coming. Spencer does, too.”

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, though his tone suggests otherwise. 

Patrick nods. 

“It’s what we’re here for, Brendon,” he says softly. “And everything will be ok. We haven’t failed yet.”

“Okay,” Brendon grins bravely. “I’ll- We’ll see you later.”

Patrick gives Brendon a little wave as the door swings shut behind him.

—

It’s Pete’s turn to be almost completely silent on the cab ride to their hotel. 

It’s so far out of character that Patrick is certain something is wrong.

Pete is _never_ silent. 

“Pete?” Patrick finally asks, voice quiet. “Pete, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Pete doesn’t move from staring out the car window, but he does sigh.

“It’s—” he begins, before cutting himself off with a hitched breath. “There’s a reason I don’t investigate suicides. I mean, beyond the fact that they’re messy.”

Pete cuts himself off again and Patrick waits, biting his lip hard to avoid saying anything.

“I know you’ve probably seen the big red stamp on my file,” Pete exhales hard. “The _Commissioner_ has. I should have told you, I’m sorry.”

“You’re telling me now,” Patrick says firmly, reaching out but stopping short of touching Pete’s arm. “So don’t fuck around with apologies. There’s nothing to say sorry for.”

Pete laughs shakily. 

“Knew I liked you for a reason,” he teases halfheartedly, and Patrick smiles despite himself. 

“Tell me,” Patrick whispers, and Pete leans into the two inches between Patrick’s hand and his shoulder. 

“I tried, when I was younger,” Pete admits, biting the words out like they’re physically painful. For all Patrick knows, they might be. “To— to kill myself. That’s why I have the big red ‘caution’ stamp on my file. That’s why there was such a big gap between training and a job, that’s why I was freelancing. No one but Travie would hire me afterwards. Too much risk.”

“You’re not a risk,” Patrick says firmly. Pete glances over at him and sighs before resting his head tentatively on Patrick’s shoulder. “You’re _not._ Pete.”

Pete shakes his head.

“It’s why I don’t do this kind of case,” he explains. “It’s too—too _much,_ too many memories. Fucking Morris _knew,_ too. Of course he did. He thought I wouldn’t be able to go through with the case.”

 _“Listen to me,”_ Patrick urges. “Pete. Listen. I’m—I’m sorry you had to go through that, I’m sorry I didn’t know. But—and I swear to god I mean this, Pete— if you can’t finish, if you can’t, you had better tell me. I’d rather not finish, I’d rather lose my _job_ than lose you, ok, Pete?” 

“Patrick—”

“No,” Patrick interrupts. “No, I mean it. You know full well that you got me to change my mind about you and nothing you say can change it back. I care about you, you dick, and if there is any point where you don’t think you can go on, for fuck’s sake _tell me._ Please. I can’t lose you.”

“We’ll lose the department if we don’t solve this,” Pete whispers. “You realize that, right? It’s what Morris is counting on. He’s counting on me failing, on Spencer refusing to listen, on the Church winning. The Church is likely to win. He wants us to fail so he can take the PIU from us.”

“That’s preferable to me losing your dumb ass, Pete,” Patrick says, voice cracking. “I fucking mean it.”

“Patrick,” Pete whispers, and Patrick gives in, gives in because he _needs_ Pete to understand. He wraps his arms around Pete, tight, and Pete’s hitched breath of surprise goes straight to his heart.

“Pete,” Patrick says hoarsely. “Pete, say you’ll tell me.”

“I’ll tell you,” Pete promises, and Patrick squeezes hard.

—

“Patrick, Patrick wake up,” Patrick gasps and flings a hand out to smack whoever the fuck decided to _touch him—_

“Patrick, the Church tried to burn the house down.”

“What the _fuck,”_ Patrick sits up. “That would destroy their case, why would they do that?”

“They must feel like they’re going to lose,” Pete says, throwing Patrick his jacket. “Whatever the reason, they’ve probably scared the boys shitless, we have to check on them.”

“Yes, yeah,” Patrick agrees, shoving his feet into his shoes. “Ok, let’s go.”

Pete’s already halfway out the door, hair a mess, and Patrick stumbles after him, patting himself down for his hotel key.

“Maybe we should stay at the house from now on,” Patrick pants, once he gives up and resigns himself to having to ask the front desk when they return. “That way we’re right there for Brendon and Spencer.”

“Good idea,” Pete nods, waving for a cab the second they’re out the front door. “I’ll run it by Vegas P.D..”

They pile in the back of the cab, and Patrick grabs Pete’s arm. 

“Hold still,” he instructs, and combs his fingers through Pete’s hair, trying to force it flat. “Did you sleep?”

“Do I ever?” Pete snorts. “I’m okay. You’re right, I would sleep better if we were there with them.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Patrick grins despite himself, and Pete sends a (fucking heart-stopping, the asshole) smile back. 

“You don’t have to,” Pete shrugs, batting Patrick’s hands away. “I can read you like a book and you know it. My hair won’t cooperate, trust me.”

“Worth a shot,” Patrick shrugs, sending Pete a sideways glance. “Ask the police if we can stay.”

“I will,” Pete says. “We’re here.”

“Thanks,” Patrick tells the driver, and clambers out after Pete, rushing to catch up.

“—arrested, and we’re going to post double duty until this thing is over,” it’s Vegas’ Chief of Police, and Patrick waits until she walks away from the throng of reporters to hold out his hand. 

“Patrick Stump,” he introduces. “This is my partner, Pete Wentz. PIU. What happened?”

“Williams,” the Chief answers, shaking both their hands. “Hayley Williams. We caught a couple of clergy members trying to set fire to the house. They mostly failed, thankfully, but like you heard me say, we’re going to up security.”

“Why would they do that?” Patrick asks. “Isn’t that a little detrimental?”

“You’d think,” Williams laughs. “But _allegedly_ the parents will stop at nothing to get rid of the kid’s spirit. I think they’re scared of facing judgement. Between you and me, they’re at fault for the deaths to begin with. I wouldn’t be surprised if after this case, the boyfriend’s parents sue them.”

Patrick nods in agreement before Pete cuts in.

“We were thinking it may be best to stay here instead of the hotel,” he points out. “In case something happens with those boys. At least you’d have us here to handle that right away.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” she muses. “I don’t see why not. I’ll stick with the double security, though. Just to be safe.”

“Thank you,” Patrick sighs in relief. “We really appreciate it.”

“Go check on those kids,” Williams tells him. “We just have to make sure they’re not going to flip out and lose themselves.”

Patrick needs no further instruction, following Pete wordlessly to the front door.

“Brendon?” Pete’s calling out as Patrick pauses behind him. “Spencer? It’s us, it’s Pete and Patrick.”

There’s a long pause. 

“Peterick?” comes Brendon’s bright voice, followed by a loud groan.

Pete shoots Patrick a quizzical look before leading the way inside, coming face to face with the two spirit boys.

Patrick’s heart gives another little twinge of pain as he sees the two—Brendon looks scared, for all his bravado he’s trying to put on, and while Spencer has clearly realized he can’t hold Brendon’s hand, he’s got his own hovering right on top of Brendon’s.

Protectively. 

“Peterick?” he asks, instead of pointing that out. Brendon giggles.

“Don't worry about it,” he grins, and Spencer rolls his eyes again, but loses the battle to hide his fond look. 

“Sure,” Pete says slowly. “Are you two okay?”

“What happened?” Spencer asks, voice gruff. “No one will talk to us. We’re right here, you know. Would it kill them?”

“They’re just rude,” Patrick lies in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. In reality, half of those people out there may not even fully _see_ Brendon and Spencer, and others might believe they worst of them. 

Patrick hopes not, but still. 

Spencer shoots Patrick an accusatory look that spells out exactly how much Patrick failed at lying. Thankfully, Brendon seems to buy it. 

“Did they try and burn down my house?” Brendon asks with wide eyes. “My mom’s— I mean, the church people.”

“Yes, but they didn’t come close,” Patrick says quickly. “They’re posting more security, and we’re going to stay here now.”

“Really?” Brendon squeaks, voice incredibly high pitched. “Really? Oh my gosh that’s _so_ awesome. Spence! Isn’t it, Spence! It gets kind of…. kind of _lonely_ with just us. I’m so _excited_ you’re gonna stay here! Another person to talk to!”

“Good luck,” Spencer mutters, and Brendon tries to smack him. 

“Don’t mind him,” Brendon tells them. “He’ll lighten up.”

“I wish I was dead,” Spencer sighs, though clearly fighting a smile. 

Pete smirks. 

“Then I have some good news for you,” he tells Spencer, who just scowls harder. 

Brendon continues his train of thought. 

“Spencer _never_ talks, and it’s always just my voice,” he says, hovering three inches away from Patrick and practically _vibrating._ “Sometimes, I think I’ll go, like, ghost-crazy. People!” 

He zooms around the room in unbridled joy before hovering down beside Spencer and continuing to ramble.

Pete sidles up next to Patrick.

“You know,” he says conversationally, under both his breath and Brendon’s incessant chatting. “I was against burning the house down before, but after listening to him talk for the last three minutes, I’m ready to burn it down with us in it just to shut him up.”

Patrick makes an attractive combination snorting-laughing sound against his will, and Pete looks pleased.

“Well,” Patrick says. “We’re here now. What could go wrong?”

—

Brendon never shuts up.

“What a nice change of scenery,” Patrick mutters to himself, clutching the coffee mug he’s taken to using, a big yellow one with Pluto the dog’s ears as the handle. He’s afraid his grip might actually break the thing. 

“This is the kitchen,” Pete points out, brushing by him to put his plate in the sink. “No, Brendon. You’re not allowed in here.”

Brendon lets out his best horrific moan and swoops away, imitating chains rattling. 

It’s been _two weeks._

“I know it’s the kitchen,” Patrick says tightly, instead of swearing at the top of his lungs. “I was being sarcastic.”

“Brendon’s improving,” Pete whispers, kissing the top of Patrick’s head absently. Patrick flushes hotly, and Pete glances away, abashed. 

There’s a long silence, Patrick avoiding Pete’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Patrick finally manages, voice only slightly strangled. “He doesn’t look so sad anymore.”

“I’m happy for that,” Pete sighs. “Spencer needs to catch up. He’s not up to the level of accepting his spirituality.”

“Yeah,” Patrick repeats, sighing and biting his lip. “Maybe we should try talking to him again?”

“Won’t work,” Spencer announces serenely, floating past the kitchen doorway. Patrick groans. 

“Okay,” Pete murmurs. “Okay. They shut off the internet here again. Let’s go back to the hotel and do our check-ins. It’ll give us some time to gather our thoughts.”

Patrick sighs.

“Okay,” he agrees. “But I want—”

A loud knock at the door interrupts him, and he glances up at Pete questioningly.

Pete shrugs.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

Another knock, more desperate than the first. 

“Mr. Stump?” the female voice sounds strained. “Mr. Wentz?”

“Is that Chief Williams?” Patrick asks, but Pete’s already moving to the door. 

“They moved the hearing,” are the first words out of her mouth. She looks frantic. “They moved the hearing, and I don’t know what happened or why but it looks like it’s going to go south. You have to do something. You have to free those kids.”

“Brendon, Spencer!” Patrick shouts urgently. “We have to go. We’ll be back soon, okay? Scream for help if you need anything at _all.”_

“I’m putting extra patrol here,” Chief Williams says as Patrick closes and locks the front door behind him. “But you have to free them, you have to figure out _something_ to do. They don’t deserve exorcism.”

“That’s the plan,” Patrick reassures. “Can you drop us at the hotel? We’re going to find an answer, can you—”

“Anything,” Williams replies instantly. “Hop in.”

“After two clergy members tried to set fire to the house,” Patrick begins as Chief Williams flips the siren on and takes off. “What judge in their right mind would side with them? Surely—”

“You’d _think,”_ Williams says, expertly weaving through traffic on a record pace to the hotel. “But I’m thinking someone got to the judge. Money, threats, who knows. My question is who would do that? Who’s got a grudge against these kids?”

“I think it’s more ‘who’s got a grudge against _us'_ ,” Patrick says, slowly, and Pete pales. 

“Shit,” he breathes. “You don’t think _Morris—”_

“I do,” Patrick replies through gritted teeth. “I _do_ think he wants the department _that badly.”_

“Here,” Chief Williams pulls up to the curb, tires squealing. “I’m trusting you.”

“We’re on it,” Patrick promises. “We’ll call you as soon as we have a plan.”

—

“Fuck!” 

Patrick’s notebook hits the wall with a pathetic sound, sliding to the ground. Pete sighs as Patrick sinks onto the bed, head in his hands.

“That was your last lead?” he asks softly, and Patrick nods without looking up.

“My absolute last lead, and we’re running out of time,” Patrick groans. “Pete, please tell me—”

Pete’s already shaking his head.

“You’re not going to like this,” he warns. “But I only have the one idea.”

“Will it free the boys?” Patrick demands. “Will it get Spencer fully accepting his spirituality, and fast?”

“Technically,” Pete says hesitantly. “But not legally.”

“Pete,” Patrick says warningly. “Pete, we have no time. We can’t mess around with the _law,_ Pete.”

“What if I said we wouldn’t get caught?” Pete asks. 

_“No,”_ Patrick emphasizes. “We’ll lose the department.”

“You said you were okay with that.”

“Only if I had to chose between it and _you,”_ Patrick explodes. “Only if it was between you and it, and it’s _not._ There _has_ to be another way.”

“Patrick,” Pete whispers. “Patrick, there really isn’t.”

“If we break the law—”

“We’ll lose the department either way!” Pete argues, voice almost cracking. “We may as well chose the route to give Spencer and Brendon some peace. Please. They deserve it.”

Pete’s eyes are wide, pleading. Almost without Pete’s consent, a single tear slips free, and Pete wipes roughly at his face, sighing shakily.

“You’re right,” he begins, but no. Patrick _isn’t._

“What’s your idea,” Patrick interrupts, and Pete freezes, looking at him in concern.

“What?” he asks, quietly. Patrick sighs. 

“Your plan, Pete,” Patrick tells him. “The illegal one.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said,” Patrick cuts him off. “I was wrong. Tell me your plan.”

“Why?” Pete asks, and Patrick blinks.

“Because,” Patrick begins slowly. “We need a plan.”

“No, I mean, why did you change your mind?” Pete clarifies. “You had a good point, we’ll lose the department. Usually, you don’t really listen to me. So why?”

Patrick freezes. 

Pete’s getting into some dangerous territory, some territory Patrick avoids with a ten foot radius. Territory Patrick told himself was off limits, forever.

He opens his mouth, fully intending on telling Pete to shut the fuck up and tell him his idea.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” is what actually comes out of Patrick’s mouth. 

“You’re—what?” Pete asks, and Patrick feels trapped, frozen.

“I’ve wanted to tell you that since training,” he admits. “I’m sorry. 

“Sorry?” Pete manages, eyes huge, and Patrick shrugs helplessly before nodding, blinking back hot tears.

“I’m sorry for getting _so angry_ that night after graduation,” he breathes. “I’m sorry for not seeing that you _did_ care about me, even though you left. I’m sorry you went on to face your life alone, I’m _sorry._ But you’re not gonna be alone anymore if it fucking kills me, Pete, so—”

Pete interrupts him with lips pressed hard against his own. Patrick’s mouth drops open in surprise, and Pete takes it like the invitation it clearly is. 

They _can’t_ do this, they _can’t,_ they have cases and policies and—

Pete deepens the kiss further, practically breathing new life into Patrick’s aching heart, and Patrick moans unconsciously.

 _Fuck it,_ Patrick screams to their caseload, to policies, to _Morris himself,_ and pushes forward hard, hands curling in Pete’s shirt. Pete’s teeth nip at Patrick’s lip, and he’s startled by the almost-desperate whine he makes as Pete’s hand cup his face. 

“Patrick, _fuck,”_ Pete groans into Patrick’s mouth. “Yes, you know how long I’ve—fucking— _dreamt_ of this?”

“Oh fuck,” Patrick whimpers weakly. “Oh fuck, Pete—”

Pete pulls away, and _fuck_ but he looks _wrecked._

“Fuck, Patrick,” he whimpers. “Fuck, how do I even _deserve—”_

Patrick covers his mouth with his hand.

“Don’t you dare,” he says calmly. “You deserve me. You don’t get to say you don’t.”

“Fuck,” Pete repeats helplessly, and surges forward to kiss Patrick hard again.

“I thought,” he manages, between kisses both desperate and wanting. “I thought I’d _never_ get this again.”

“Wrong,” Patrick manages, kissing up Pete’s neck. “Show me.”

Pete drops to his knees.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick says faintly. “Oh fuck, yes, don’t—”

Patrick’s phone rings, loud and jarring, and Patrick almost jumps out of his skin.

“That’s probably Williams,” Pete says, eyes dark. Patrick doesn’t think he can move. “You’d better get it.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick moans. “Oh my _god,_ get _up.”_

He stumbles over to the bed to scramble at his phone, determinedly putting his back to Pete in order to compose himself. 

“Stump,” he answers, proud of how his voice doesn’t sound like he was just two seconds from a Pete Wentz blowjob. 

He hopes Pete got off his knees. 

“The hearing is tomorrow,” fucking _Morris,_ and just like that, Patrick is seething again. “I trust you’re aware.”

“Well aware, Commissioner,” he replies, as professionally as he can manage. He glances over at Pete, who’s throwing Patrick’s phone a disgusted look. “We’re executing a plan as we speak.”

“I wouldn’t want to distract you,” Morris sounds so fucking coy. Patrick sort of wants to punch him. “But I feel I must alert you to the consequences of failing to free those poor spirits should the exorcism be approved.”

“I understand, sir,” Patrick says, strained. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He hangs up before Morris can say whether or not he’s excused. 

“So, Pete,” Patrick says, calm. His grip on his phone is white knuckled. “Let’s do something illegal.”

—

“Boys!” Patrick calls. “Get in— _fuck,_ Brendon, don’t do that!”

“Have you been making out?” Brendon says, an inch from Patrick’s face with way too much interest. “Is Peterick real?”

“I’m placing a ban on the word ‘Peterick’,” Patrick announces. “Until you tell me what it means. But not now. Listen.”

“Listening, your highness,” Spencer fake-salutes, and Patrick shoots him a look. 

“The hearing is tomorrow,” Patrick tells them both. “I’m sure you heard Chief Williams earlier.”

Brendon visibly stiffens. 

“Mhm,” he says quietly. “I also heard we’re probably going to be exorcised.”

“Oh, Bren,” Patrick whispers. “Not if we have something to do with it, you’re not. We’re going to help—but you gotta trust us.”

“We trust you!” Brendon says immediately, perking up. He sends Spencer an almost-lethal look until Spencer sighs grumpily. 

“Yeah,” he acquiesces, and Patrick takes that as a win. 

“What we’re doing,” Pete says carefully. “Is….well, illegal.”

“Illegal!” Brendon gasps, almost comically, and locks his really unfair brown eyes on Patrick. “You’d do something illegal to help us?”

“You bet,” Patrick nods. “We’d do anything, Bden.”

“What are you gonna do?” Brendon asks quietly. Patrick swallows.

“We’re going to set fire to your house,” Patrick sighs. “I know, I know it’s not ideal. But you’d be freed from your ties here, and you two could remain together. If you’re exorcized—”

“We’d cease to exist,” Brendon finishes promptly, and Patrick’s heart aches. “I understand that. But—Spencer doesn’t—I mean, I’m not sure how to even be a spirit. We’re just going to have to….get used to it? Just like that?”

“Yeah, Brendon,” Pete whispers, apologetically. “It’s really our only option.”

Brendon nods quickly, though he doesn’t look convinced. 

“Okay,” he begins, but before he can finish, Spencer overrides him.

“I don’t want to live alone,” he announces with a scowl. “Can we stay with you?”

Brendon perks up again immediately.

“Yeah!” he agrees, fixing wide eyes on Patrick. 

Patrick looks at Spencer incredulously.

“We are literally breaking every oath we took to set you free, so you can be at peace, and you want to tie yourself to living people?” he demands. “Most teenagers would love freedom.”

“We just love you,” Brendon shrugs, and Patrick flushes. 

“Patrick meant ‘yes, of course’,” Pete laughs. “Yes, if you want, you can stay with us.”

“They can?” Patrick asks, strangled. Brendon floats closer and tries to rest his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick sighs.

“Of course you can,” he relents, and Brendon splits into a blinding grin. 

“What do we do?” he asks, and Patrick sighs before unwinding his scarf and placing it on the ground, Pete doing the same with his gloves.

“When the house catches fire, hover near these,” Pete explains. “Once they burn, you’ll be able to pick them up. Hold onto them. It’ll anchor you to us. And when this is over, and we go home—you come with us.”

“Okay,” Spencer says, shrugging like it’s nothing. Brendon pauses.

“But,” he asks, biting his lip. “Will it—won’t the fire hurt us?” 

Patrick shakes his head. 

“No,” he promises. “Nothing can hurt you. You just sit back and you’ll know your ties have been broken when the weight you feel in your chest lifts. You can float right on out.”

“What if the fire is put out before the ties are broken?” Spencer asks, and Patrick grins.

“Something tells me the fire department will take a while to put the fire out,” he says, raising an eyebrow, and Brendon giggles. 

“Okay,” Pete tells them both. “We’re going to set the fire right now. We’re not going to wait for the ruling, it’s too risky. We’re not willing to risk you. Okay?”

Brendon nods, and almost begins vibrating again before clearly calming himself down. 

“Don’t forget to hold onto our stuff,” Patrick instructs, hovering by the back door. “Promise me.”

“We promise,” Spencer says, beating Brendon by a half second. “Thank you, Patrick.”

Patrick nods, smiling, and closes the door behind him. Chief Williams is in the middle of the yard, arms crossed, and Patrick meets her eyes. 

She holds up a lighter.

“Ready,” she says, and Patrick’s jaw drops. “Oh please, if you weren’t going to do it, I was.”

“Duly noted,” Patrick whispers faintly, and she sends a thumbs up to Pete at the side of the house. 

“Ready for arson, Trick?” Pete says with a smirk, and Patrick grimaces. 

“Keep your morals away from me,” Patrick groans, and hears the clicks of lighters behind him. His jaw drops for the second time as the entire squad assigned to watch the house lights fabric simultaneously and tucks it at the house’s edge. 

“Let’s free these boys,” Pete whispers, and Patrick smiles. 

—  
**Epilogue**

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t _say_ anything,” Brendon argues, and Patrick narrows his eyes at him. 

“Don’t care,” Patrick decides. “Shut up. Do you really like this shirt?”

“It looks _great,”_ Brendon complains. “It’s not like it’ll stay on very long. I may be sixteen, but I know what happens between lovers in hotel rooms.”

He says this last part with an exaggerated British accent and Patrick resists the urge to throw something at him. It’ll just go through, anyway. 

“Seriously,” Brendon whispers. “Patrick, Pete loves you in anything. He loves you, period. Now, go meet him for dinner, you dork! You need to have _your_ date so Spencer and I—”

“Enough!” Patrick yells, waving Brendon away. “I’m going! Be good!”

“I’m dead; how good can I be?” Brendon shouts back, and Patrick laughs before letting himself out into the sunshine. 

—

**Author's Note:**

> i live and breathe at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com


End file.
